Safe
by ebonyandunicorn
Summary: Short fic post 4x04. Becker is struggling with the death of a girl he couldn't save; Matt wishes he could do something to offer comfort or reprieve.


Becker watches Jess leave, waiting until she's disappeared around the corner to let out the breath he's been holding in a vehement curse. The wound she'd accidentally kicked now burns with a whole new ferocity; he's beginning to realise it's a little more than 'just a bite'. Even so, he's not about to admit that to anyone – least of all Matt, who, predictably, enters the room precisely one minute after Jess has left it.

"How're you doing?" Matt's thick Irish brogue is unusually gentle, his face displaying honest concern as he moves further into the room. Again, the question is something Becker could have seen coming from a mile away, and he doesn't bother to dignify it with a response. These men have known each other a long time, though, and Matt understands. He prompts Becker further, in a more specific but less painful direction. "Your leg?"

"It'll heal." Becker turns away from Matt and begins to gather the clothes he'd stripped off, leaning against the bench to take as much weight off his injured leg as possible. Gentle footsteps mark Matt's approach, but he doesn't come too close, pausing at the other end of the bench with his hands resting in his pockets. He doesn't speak, watching Becker quietly go about his work, waiting patiently for the short, biting question that comes soon enough: "_What?_"

"Don't beat yourself up over it, Becker. You did all you could."

Becker rounds on Matt, the placid, soothing tone of the other man infuriating him. "It wasn't enough," he snaps, meeting Matt's eyes for only a moment before dropping his gaze. "I should have done more. I should have saved the girl."

"_We_ should have," Matt corrects gently. "I was with you, remember. I lead the team. I'm just as responsible as you."

Becker's mouth is twisted in a grimace of self-loathing; he shakes his head and turns away from Matt, gripping the bench top for support. "I promised," he spits through clenched teeth. "I promised myself I wouldn't lose anyone else. Danny; Sarah..." The wound in his leg gives a deep twinge, hard enough for his knees to buckle for a moment as his knuckles turn white on the bench. Instantly Matt is there, bracing him with one hand on his arm and the other at his waist, holding him as he had done earlier that day when he'd dragged an injured Becker to safety. For a moment Becker gives in and lets Matt support his full weight as his head tilts back to rest gratefully on Matt's shoulder – then the moment passes and the soldier stands straight again, shrugging away from Matt's grip. "I'm fine."

Matt inclines his head. "I know you are," he says, fooling neither of them. He takes a pace back and watches as Becker slowly takes his hand off the bench, testing his weight on his leg. The leg, though, is the least of Matt's worries. He knows from the shortness of Becker's tone and the way he refuses to meet anyone's gaze that the younger man is heaping blame on himself for the death of the girl. Matt knows that there was nothing they could have done, and he knows that Becker is smart enough to know it too.

He also knows that Becker will accept the blame anyway, because it's what Becker does whenever something goes wrong – he assumes full and complete responsibility, in spite or perhaps because of the fact that it rarely should fall all to him. When three key members of the ARC team had been lost through an anomaly just over a year ago, Becker had blamed himself, even though he hadn't been the one to trap them there. When Sarah had died attempting a rescue mission, Becker had blamed himself, even though she had insisted on accompanying the team. When Danny hadn't returned alongside Abby and Connor, Matt had watched as Becker's momentary joy turned once again to grief and the burden of responsibility was welcomed to rest on his shoulders once more. It's the way Becker is wired, the way he copes with the dangerous situations he has to face every day, with the lives he took during his time in the military. In many ways, he takes his job more seriously than anyone else at the ARC.

Sometimes, Matt wishes he wouldn't. Watching the muscles tense in Becker's back with the effort it takes just to stand, seeing his fists clench at his sides against more than one type of pain, Matt wants nothing more than for Becker to finally share his burdens with someone, to open up and allow Matt – or anyone – to help shoulder the grief and the blame he carries each day. Matt meant what he said; he leads this team and is every bit as responsible for the death of the girl. He knows, though, that Becker can't see that, knows that the last thing the taciturn soldier wants to do is 'open up' to anyone. Even over the course of their long, confused relationship (whatever it is; Matt's given up attempting to define it by now), Becker has rarely said anything overly deep or personal. Still, that only means that Matt has come to treasure Becker's every word.

"Matt," Becker says quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Would you feel like this if I had died? Would you care?"

The question is enough to surround Matt's heart with ice. Images from the long, difficult day come crashing into his mind – Becker slumped against a bench in the canteen; his eyelids fluttering closed as the venom seeped through his veins; his teeth gritted against the pain Matt inflicted as he literally rubbed salt into the wound to save his life. Sounds, too – Becker's hoarse, desperate breathing; his muffled shrieks of pain. "God, yes," Matt answers without hesitation. "If you'd gone... Becker, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself."

"But I'm nothing," Becker mutters, a new hollowness to his tone that Matt has never heard before. "I'm a soldier who can't even do his job. This girl... She had everything ahead of her. She had parents, family –"

"Stop." Matt cuts him off urgently, reaching forward to grip Becker's shoulder. "Stop that. You're not nothing. Everyone makes mistakes, Becker. Sometimes people die even when you do everything right. That's just the way the world works and you can't dwell on that." He struggles to keep his voice low and calm. "Focus on the good things. The boys survived. _You_ survived." He pauses, his grasp on Becker's shoulder tightening briefly before becoming a caress. "That's the most important thing."

"To you, maybe."

"Yes." Matt takes a step forward until they are standing side by side. His hand moves from Becker's shoulder to his jaw, a little daring because he knows Becker does not like to be touched this much. Nevertheless, Matt taps Becker's chin gently, forcing him to look up and meet Matt's gaze. "That is the most important thing," Matt says earnestly, stormy grey eyes intent on Becker's brown ones. "You can't keep everyone safe, but promise to keep yourself safe. For me."

It's almost, almost enough – but then Becker looks away again, and he speaks with a tired bitterness that sounds almost reflexive. "I'm not really good with promises to keep people safe."

Matt sighs quietly, exhausted, frustrated, and struggling in no small part himself with the events of today. He takes another step and turns so that he's facing Becker front-on, but he doesn't let his hand fall, moving it now to cup Becker's cheek. "Then I will have to keep you safe," he says, quiet but firm, and he leans in to briefly meet Becker's lips with his own. "I promise."


End file.
